


clear and starry eyed

by DistractedDaydreamer



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, clarmont shows up like one time sorry :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedDaydreamer/pseuds/DistractedDaydreamer
Summary: Yaen knows she doesn't have much time left; but she'll enjoy the moments of time she has left.Three of the above moments where practicality and sentimentality coexist.
Relationships: Jiyel Scholar/Zarad
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	clear and starry eyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwayLaughing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/gifts).



> If you recognize the dialogue, its because I lifted it from the game, which I do not own because I am not Aly. Enjoy!

The earthy, nutty flavour of the bread was absolutely delicious, and Yaen, ensconced cozily in the kitchen nook, had been enamoured. But not enamoured enough to miss Clarmont’s familiar voice in a heated exchange with Mrs White. Yaen’s curiosity was piqued, but since there was no opportunity to further investigate, she had put it out of her mind...until now, when her mind was desperate to focus on anything other than the chill in her body and the shaking of her hands, curled tightly around a worn shawl she had brought from home.

To escape the thoughts of poison and plots, she had decided to get some fresh air. Setting down her writing, she had seen Clarmont’s familiar figure staring out into the gardens from her window. A distraction. She had wrapped the shawl tighter about her and headed out to the lush gardens, greeting him with gaiety she tried in vain to feel.

“ _Why, Lady Yaen, how delightful to see you. And I hope you will give me more credit than assuming me hopelessly lost mere steps from the entrance. Although there's something a bit poetic in that, I suppose.”_

Indeed. She expected the summit to be at worst a temporary pause on her aspirations to be a master sculptor. At the very least, she thought the summit an opportunity to explore new horizons, speak to knowledgeable people, and read rare books. And she had learned, and met wonderful people, and discovered facts about herself she hadn’t been willing to confront. She had admitted to herself why she thought she would never be happy, romantically, with Jiro. She just hadn’t expected that it might be over so soon. 

But that was too heavy and too much to share. 

_“A perfect analogy for the summit, I think,”_ she replied instead. As they carried on bantering and headed into the maze, the easy conversation seemed to dislodge the stone that had settled in her stomach after her realisation that she had been poisoned. 

Clarmont shared a silly Revarian children's story, making exaggerated faces and voices as they wandered through the maze. He even unwound his orange scarf from his neck to make floppy bunny ears. Yaen was reminded suddenly of her father, who had invented stories about whatever animal he was studying and turned them into bedtime tales when she was younger. And even though the circumstances were completely different, she found herself laughing and enjoying herself. 

If these were the last days she had, she would enjoy what she could with the new friends she had made here. She thought longingly of Jiyel. Loda, Malia, Una, Lien, Caili, Hien...Jiro. She would miss them. When she got back to her room, she would write them a letter, and try to say the things she always struggled to say before.

* * *

Another night of studying late in the library had turned up nothing. Her eyes tired from squinting through a magnifying glass at the page, Yaen had gone out for some air. Tired feet carried her back to where Zarad had took her on their first date, a hillside overlooking both the sea and with a clear view of the skies. That evening her skin was feverish. The chilly breeze which ruffled her long hair in the night was welcome. She took a moment to enjoy the sensation, and relinquished her thoughts to focus on the rushing of the dreamy sea, the susurration of the ocean breeze stirring the bushes. Then her ears picked up footsteps. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of green silks, and relaxed.

“What are you doing out so late, little dove? Or should I say little bat?” It didn’t surprise her that Zarad had found out about her farsightedness, only that he had taken so long to comment on it. 

“Bat is accurate. Often I feel as though I am flying blind in pursuit of answers. Such as: how did you know I was out here?” 

Zarad’s eyes twinkled. “I think I must keep my secrets, else you will become bored of me” 

“Surely there are more interesting things about you than your secrets.”

“Perhaps that depends on what you want to know.”

Yaen smiled, though it was perhaps more bitter than she wants it to be. _I wish I knew everything about you_ , she thought. Then dismissed the thought as melodramatic. There was still time, and there was no need for hysterics.

The silence had stretched out longer than politeness dictated. She could feel the weight of Zarad’s gaze on her, waiting patiently for her to respond as she stared out, up at the sky. But she had too many thoughts circling her mind to ask anything meaningful right now, when she was so tired. And she didn’t know if he would answer the questions she wanted to ask either. As she contemplated the stars, another question came to mind. One that was innocent, and might distract her. “Zarad...What do you love so much about the stars?”

Zarad hummed, a low, considering noise. He took her hand in his and she glanced at it, surprised. She did not pull away. “Let me show you a constellation, Yaen.” Soothingly, slowly, he ran his other hand over the back of hers. She felt caught in the intensity of his eyes, unable to look away until Zarad raised one hand to lightly, delicately turn her face up towards the sky. 

“Do you see those three stars in a row?” It is a bit of a struggle, but Yaen refocused on the pinpricks of light until she can make them out, and nodded. Zarad tapped on the back of her hand, three taps equally spaced. Then the slow brush of one finger, connecting the three. “That is the Hunter’s belt. The constellation is in the shape of a man, with one star for his head” --tap, above the other three -- “and one each for his broad shoulders, one for his hip.” Each time, he punctuated his words with a gentle tap of his fingers. He continued to trace along her hand as he described the stars that made up the constellation, until she could pick out the shape above her shining just as he said.

“While I can see the outline as you’ve related, it bears only a slight resemblance to the shape of the man”

“That is the point.” Yaen can hear Zarad’s smile in his voice. “It is abstract. There are stories about the stars and constellations, and these are told over and over again, but it is all just our collective imagination. I learned most of the constellations from the desert people of Corval, when I visited as a child and a teen. They told me they use the stars as guides at night, and the stories help them remember them. As humans try to find order and ascribe meaning, the stories about stars are more of a mirror than a magnifying glass.”

“And though the constellations we see in different parts of the world differ, the stars are the same. They watch over everyone. They are constant. Beautiful, independent of anything, or anyone else. And stars last. No matter what they are going through, they endure.”

He paused. Yaen turned to study his face, though his features were blurry and soft-edged, so close to hers. “What do you think, little star?”

Yaen’s heart fluttered, and her breath caught. It took her a moment more to respond. “I don’t know if I believe in the stars the way you do, Zarad,” she says, more sincerely and honestly than she expected to. 

“Maybe you just need to trust in them the way I think I might be, after coming to this summit.”

“Maybe.” Yaen brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face with her other hand, searching for words. “Thank you, Zarad. It is getting quite late, I should return to my rooms to rest.”

“Goodnight then, my lady.” With aching gentleness, he lifted the hand he was holding on to up to his lips, his kiss barely more than a brush of air against her knuckles. And then he turned to walk further out into the island. Yaen watched him leave. She walked back to her rooms, bid goodnight to Jasper, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

* * *

The merchants' booths were set up along a set of eight tables, one from each kingdom and two from Corval. Yaen sighed as she trailed her hand along one side of an engraved wooden box as she contemplated what to give. While it was early days yet, she really thought she could become close to many of the delegates at the summit, and she wanted gifts that would reflect her regard for them. A less cheery consideration, though no less important, was that it would be best to prepare as though this was her last opportunity to show affection in this way. 

A parcel wrapped in waxed paper caught her eye. In neat calligraphy, the Corvali merchant had labeled “Clay. Oven bake to harden.” In front were delicately wrapped parcels, clearly intended to be a novelty gift. Small pots of lead glaze were also for sale. Seeing an opportunity to sell, the merchant began to extol the virtues of the glaze and clay, but Yaen’s mind was already racing. Without a throwing wheel, certain pottery would be beyond her, but little figurines or pinch pots should be possible. 

Still, she knew what clay and glaze cost, and this was an exorbitant mark-up. Pretending at disinterest, Yaen hinted that she would be willing to buy more for the right discount. She grinned internally with satisfaction as she managed to barter down the price significantly to somewhat reasonable, and picked up a pair of lace gloves for Cordelia to boot. After making a few more purchases that just seemed perfect for their recipient, she hurried back to her room to craft.

First, she mixed up some of the clay with water to make slip, liquid clay, and let it sit. She then reached for her sketchbook and drew out her ideas, before looking through her luggage for the tools she had brought with her.

Even knowing she wouldn’t be able to use them, she hadn’t wanted to leave them behind. They had been a gift from Kalina, her pottery teacher, when Yaen left to study sculpture. Now she was glad that she had brought them as her hands rolled out the clay into long cylinders and dexterously molded it into the pot shape. A combination of tools, pressing fingers and slip smoothed it out the rough edges, and carved in whorls and little details. Additional lumps of clay became the elegant neck of a swan or the curlicue of a plant's trailing vine. 

She lost track of time as she worked on the few gifts she had decided to make. It was more difficult now, as her hands would shake and shake and mess up some of the more delicate details. She missed the sureness of her fingers she used to have. Still, she persevered.

When she looked up from her work, the sun was low in the sky. She loaded the clay pots and sculptures into the tray Jasper had last used to bring in tea and headed for the kitchens, cradling it in her arms to reduce the risk of her trembling hands dropping them. So focused was she on watching her steps that she startled when another hand curled around the tray. Thankfully, she had enough poise not to jerk, and just stopped, looking up until her gaze landed on very familiar, very handsome features.

“Where are you flying to, little bat?” asked Zarad in a low, purring tone. The slight upwards curl of his smile betrayed his genuine delight in seeing her. 

“The kitchens. I need to bake these. And yourself?”

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I did not escort a lady like yourself wherever she wishes? Though do pardon me, but those do not look particularly edible.” As he spoke, he lifted the tray out of her hands to carry it. Yaen tried to glare at him, but it was more of a squint, with no heat behind it, so she stopped almost immediately. 

It had not escaped her that he had not told her what he had been on the way to do.

Nevertheless, she continued walking. She was grateful for the company, and enjoyed the mental exercise of parrying his questions about her business and the items on the tray with various increasingly absurd fictions.

He stayed only long enough to deposit her tray near her chosen oven, which would serve as her kiln, before bestowing upon her a (regretful?) wink and absconding. Which served her purposes well, after all, since one of them was a gift for him. She was certain he would like the small statue of a Hunter, with his belt painstakingly embellished, and his outstretched arm able to hold not just a miniature bow, but a writing quill.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this last year for secret santa but delayed cross-posting :') it's been newly proofread, but let me know if i missed any errors in the comments!
> 
> also, i took huge liberties with the pottery - im reasonably certain oven-baked clay + making slip in an hour is not how pottery works. however, i like it and it doesn't fit the timeline unless i do it that way, so... *waves hand*.
> 
> yaen is a delight! i loved writing her and her interactions, very cool @awaylaughing


End file.
